Broken in More Ways than One
by HunterChic1807
Summary: AU. When a hunt goes askew, Dean is kidnapped by hunters for revenge. John tracks them down, but Dean is gone from them too. How does he look for his six-year-old son now? Warning for abuse and other disturbing themes.
1. Taken

**A/N: This is a new series I've been working on. It's been in my head for months and it was starting to interrupt with my other projects so I decided to just write it down now and see how it goes. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it, and we'll see if I have much spare time to continue it while I'm still working on The Missing Memory. So stay awesome!**

**Disclaimer: Sheesh. I really hate this part. I own nothing and gain nothing from this. The idea and the plot are the only things I own.**

**PROLOGUE: Taken**

John Winchester took another swig of the cheap beer he bought on his way to the tiny apartment he got booked for the rest of the weekend. His eldest son, Dean, had gotten back to bed with his one-year-old baby brother after his little boy had tended to the wounds his father had sustained from his latest hunt. The hunter shook his head, doing his best to dispel the tears that had suddenly gathered accumulated in his eyes glazed over with grief.

It has already been more or less six months since his wife Mary had died, but he still couldn't wrap his head around it. He could still smell her lovely perfume from time to time, he could still see her smiling face every time he closed his eyes. And it certainly didn't help that Dean looked like the male version of his dead wife with his hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair. Every time he looked at his son, really looked at him, he could almost see Mary, and that hurt him really bad.

And so, he directed all his vent up frustration and anger and grief into his new job: killing as many evil sons of bitches along the way as he sought out that thing that had taken his beautiful wife away from him. A hunter. That's what he is now.

The monster of this week had been a wendigo. It caught his attention from a news report back from the town they had just left about a week ago. His eyebrows met in the middle as he tried to remember the name of the town, but he came up blank. Hell, he couldn't even remember what it is he had killed wherever that was. _This is the purpose of this journal_, he told himself mentally. _This will be my sons' guide once I'm not here to protect them anymore._

With that still on his mind, he got up from his perch on the couch and snagged his leather jacket from the back of a wooden chair. Dean had fixed him a new set of clothes, along with his lockpick and the keys to the Impala, but he ignored the fresh clothes and instead took the keys. He needed something harder than cheap beer.

Walking on the dark parking lot, he let his mind wander, something he rarely ever does. His brain took him to the hunt he had just finished along with a few other hunters. They killed the thing that's been nabbing campers, but not without injuries. The wendigo had thrown him to a large tree and munched on another hunter named Rogers before they finally set it on fire. It was nobody's fault, but John still felt slightly guilty over the hunter's death. If only he hadn't let that monster get the better of him, the guy might still be alive…

_There's no use thinking about the what-ifs_, he chided himself. _It won't bring the dead back to life_. He cringed a little as he realized that that thought encompassed more than just this particular hunt. It told volumes about his own life before that fire. Blaming it on the cold, he instead got into the Impala and drove beyond speed limits to the bar he noticed a mile from the apartment.

Dean Winchester knew all about his dad's job. He knew that something had killed his mom. He knew that he had to take care of Sammy. He knew a lot of things that kids his age shouldn't even think about. But it didn't bother him that he knew all that. He didn't bother that he was given the big responsibility of taking care of his baby brother and making sure he was safe. It made him feel like a big boy, made him feel like someone needed him. But that didn't stop the six-year-old boy from missing his mom.

He still cried about it at night, after he put his brother to bed or when he was eating dinner of Lucky Charms all alone. He wanted to stop crying and stop being such a wimp, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted things to just go back the way they were before the fire. He prayed everyday for the last eight months, one week, and three days. He prayed to the angels that they bring his mom back to them and he promised that he will be a good boy and follow everything his parents told him. But no one ever answered. So he stopped praying. He felt anger at his mom for making him believe that angels existed, but he loved her and he missed her so much to really hate her. He hated believing instead. Obviously, since his mom had been taken so abruptly from them, angels weren't real and they weren't watching her. Believing in them just made him feel complacent and safe when really, he wasn't. There were monsters out there, and believing in angels weren't going to keep him safe. His dad would.

Later on, in the middle of his silent weeping, he heard his dad open the door and close it again. Dean knew that he would probably go to the bar and drink more alcohol so he wouldn't feel sad, and his little heart constricted more painfully. He wanted to take his father's sadness and make it his own so badly so that his daddy wouldn't hurt so much and he wouldn't miss mommy so much. But this is the real world and such things weren't possible. So the little boy settled on crying his eyes out until mercifully, he fell asleep cuddling baby Sammy.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Dean sat upright in bed, his eyes wide open and his little body trembling slightly. "Just a nightmare," he murmured blinking away the images of fire from his mind. To reassure himself, he lay back down on bed and hugged his baby brother closer to him. He felt the sudden urge to cry again, but then he heard the door to their room opening slowly.

He jumped down from bed and made his way to the door that separated their bedroom from the living room. Opening it by a crack, he gasped as he saw that it wasn't his dad who was inside the room. Closing the door again, hoping the door didn't creak, he went back to get Sammy from the bed. He embraced his little brother fiercely as unadulterated fear tore at his body mind and soul before setting him down on the floor and pushing him under the bed. It would make the little guy cranky once he wakes up under there and he might even have allergies, but Dean was willing to do anything to keep the man outside from hurting his baby brother.

Done with that, his troubled hazel eyes darted quickly all over the room trying to find at least a decent weapon. He was not going to go down without a fight. Spotting just what he needed, he hastily grabbed his dad's iron pen knife from the side table. His dad must've left it there. _Lucky me_, Dean thought gravely.

He went back to bed and covered himself with blankets up to his chin, concealing the weapon clutched in his hand. His tiny heart hammered onto his chest as he waited for the man to enter their room and as he did, Dean very nearly died of shock. But no, he wasn't about to let his baby brother down, so he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

The man was now halfway across the room, his huge frame blocking the light that was now turned on in the living room. Dean didn't even dare to peek through his eyelids as the man crept closer. Only when the man's face was inches from Dean's and he got a whiff of the rotten smell of this man's breath that Dean pulled his thin arms from under the blanket and plunged his pen knife deep on the man's right shoulder. It only made a flesh wound, but it was all the distraction he needed.

Bleeding Guy, as Dean decided to call him, screamed horribly and made a move to strangle Dean but the boy already shot out of the bed. He ran away from the man on the bed and smacked into another one. It still wasn't his dad.

By this time, he was ready to cry. He didn't know what else he could do to protect Sammy from these men, but he held the tears at bay. It would do no good to show these men how little and scared and helpless he was.

That's when Sammy started to cry himself. He must've woken when Dean stabbed the first man and he screamed. The two guys cornered him and exchanged looks.

Bleeding Guy asked, "Should we take the other one too?"

"Nah, it will be enough trouble handling this toddler without another baby crying and pooping all over my car," the other taller one answered. Squinting at his partner, he asked, "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Kid stabbed me with a pen knife," Bleeding Guy grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at Dean.

His partner looked at Dean, amused, a very evil glint in his eyes, "He got the better of you?"

"Screw you!"

"Where'd you hide your brother, kid?" Tall Man asked.

Dean just glared at him.

"I said, where's your brother!?" he thundered, looking like he might hit Dean if he didn't answer, but the six-year-old stood his ground. "Search the room," he ordered Bleeding Guy instead.

That got a response from Dean. "Just take me and leave my brother alone!" he screamed, terrified at what these guys might do to his one-year-old brother.

Both men stared at him, unsure on how to take Dean's words. Tall Man narrowed his eyes at Dean, studying him. Upon seeing the determined look on the child's face, he decided to take his words. "Yeah, we should do that," he said, directing his words to Bleeding Guy. "John might come home anytime."

With a steel grip, Tall Man led the six-year-old to his car, waiting long enough for Bleeding Guy to sit beside the boy in the passenger seat and took Dean Winchester away.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

John was thoroughly wasted when he stumbled out of the bar. He'd had too many shots of whiskey and was in no shape to drive. But being the stubborn man that he was, he still did. He was back to their apartment in a matter of fifteen minutes, longer that it would've took him if he was sober.

The alcohol, however, was driven away from his system at the sight that greeted him as he approached their humble abode. The front door was flapping along with the breeze.

He ran the rest of the way and staggered inside, the hairs on the back of his neck on end. There was a pool of blood by the door to his sons' bedroom and that's where he lurched into next. His bloodshot eyes scanned the dark room, searching for a sign that either of his sons were still here. Panic was wreaking havoc in his chest, making breathing a laborious task.

Suddenly, he heard faint sniffling from somewhere inside the room. He recognized it immediately as his youngest, knowing full well that Dean would never in any circumstance make that kind of noise after what happened last November.

Finally, he found his little baby under the bed, his face tear-streaked and blotchy. Snot was running freely from his nose as John pulled him to his chest and wrapped his arms around the boy. He had a moment of respite as he did so, but then he remembered his other son.

He looked for him all over the small apartment but he was not to be found. Ultimately, he was forced to admit to himself that Dean wasn't anywhere in the apartment. Hell, maybe he wasn't even in this state! Maybe whatever came in here just— No, he wasn't going anywhere near there. His son was alive, and that's the only way John would see it.


	2. Escape

**A/N: It's been so long since the last time I updated any of my ongoing series, and I'm doing my best to get a new chapter up in The Missing Memory after this one. Thanks for your support, especially from Diana Campos, Wesley1501, Power Of Funk, Bluewater7, Children-of-the-Blood, Entsun, LiveInMyHead, Sapphire365, Unicornsbelike, blackrabbitkani, bunnylove, krizaaaa, rmttts, MishaIsMyKing, Victory4Zim, bgeesfan, ginie27, kristin08, stupefiedbyyoursmile, wyotrink, SilentHowler and guest. You guys know what to do. Stay awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I'm still saving money to buy the ownership of Supernatural from my good friend Kripke but for technicality's sake, no, SPN is not mine. Not yet anyway.**

**CHAPTER ONE: Escape**

Dean was cold. He hugged himself even tighter in an attempt to warm himself, but it did him no good. He had the vaguest idea that he was in the middle of a roaring snow storm, but he had no clue why he would even be out in that kind of weather.

Suddenly, a loud wailing filled the air around him. _Sammy, _he instantly thought. Uncurling his small body, he stood up to find his baby brother. _How's Sammy here? Did these bad men take him too? No, no, that can't be…_ "SAMMY!" he screamed.

"Hey, wake up, kid!" nine-year-old Ariana shook the new boy awake. His body was convulsing on the cold tiled floor, a steady stream of tears pouring from his closed eyes. She tried again and again to just ignore him, but his blood-curdling scream undid her self-built discipline.

"Sam! Sammy…needs me! He won't…b-be able to sleep to-night, Daddy doesn't know how! Please, take me home! I-I need to take care of my baby bro-ther," he said in between sobs. The young boy's voice broke, and with it, Ariana's heart broke for him. She was sorely tempted to help the boy escape despite the certainty of the beatings she'll receive afterwards.

Ariana did her best to calm him down before George and the others returned. She was sure that George would be annoyed at the racket he was making, and this young boy would be black and blue by the time he was done with him. But still, he continued to cry like it was the end of the world and she was at lost as to what to do.

Finally deciding that there wasn't anything she could do to make him feel better, she instead settled for cradling him with her too-thin arms onto her too-thin body. Strands of her dark brown hair tickled her eyes, but she didn't lift a hand to fix it. She just hugged the blonde boy to her chest, whispering soothing words that her mother used to tell her when she was little.

Eventually, Dean tired of crying. His voice was hoarse and terribly parched from screaming his little brother's name and his eyes were heavy from exhaustion. He had no idea where he was, but temporarily, he felt contented from the warm embrace that surrounded him. All he felt was bones, but he was satisfied for now. Finally, when he could barely keep his eyes open, he heard the opening of a strange lullaby as he was rocked back and forth.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

A shuffling noise alerted Dean that someone was walking towards him. He might not be big enough to handle the big guns like his daddy, but he had taught Dean the most basic skills of survival. _Stay alert even as you sleep._ He could almost hear his daddy's voice even.

Through the thick haze of unconsciousness, he instantly determined that he was in a small room that had no windows and only one door. He saw it as his only means of escape.

When the door did open, the six-year-old boy was surprised to see that it was a girl, an extremely thin and unkempt girl with big eyes the color of melted chocolate. The thought made his stomach growl in protest. He hadn't gone this long without food. _How long had I been away? How did Sammy sleep last night?_ A million questions ran through his overly matured mind at once.

"Hi," the girl greeted quietly, carrying a loaf of bread on each hand. "Breakfast?"

Resolving that the girl was harmless and could be trusted for now, if only for the food she held aloft, Dean nodded uncertainly.

Ariana approached the small boy hesitantly like she would a hurt caged animal. She stopped a feet in front of his half-asleep form and handed the bread she scavenged from the kitchen. Despite her suspicion from last night, George and his friends didn't come home last night. Without a doubt, they spent another night out getting wasted. She still had no idea how, when and where they took the boy from. _Maybe I can ask him today._

Dean took what she offered, assessing it meticulously before taking a huge bite of the bread. It was stale and flavorless, but he couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If it filled his painfully empty stomach, then it was enough.

"Where am I?" he asked in between mouthfuls of bread.

"I don't really know. I've never been outside before," Ariana answered bashfully. The little kid who had, only last night, been crying his eyes out is now acting like there was nothing wrong with the situation. He was unlike any other kid George and his friends brought in. He inspired a sense of hope that Ariana had long since buried deep inside.

"What's your name?" she asked all of a sudden. Ariana immediately clamped a hand on her mouth in fear. Her brain knew that the kid in front of her isn't anything like George, but it was a force of habit to avoid speaking out of turn. It was one of the things George hated the most.

"Er, Dean." The six-year-old decided to ignore the older girl's bizarre reaction. "You?"

No one has ever asked the girl for her name before, not even the other kids, so it unsettled her to be asked now. "A-Ariana..." she answered uncertainly.

"Nice to meet you, A-Ariana, but I need to go now. My brother needs me."

"Sammy?" she asked again.

Dean raised an eyebrow at that, "How'd you know that?"

"You were calling out his name in your sleep," she answered, embarrassed to have been caught listening in when he was sleeping. She seemed to be speaking freely around Dean too much.

However, Dean was equally embarrassed. His daddy had never said he talked in his sleep so it came as a surprise to him now that he did. It mortified him to think that anybody near him when he slept could've heard him babble on about his fears and vulnerabilities. "Did I say anything else?"

Ariana noticed the boy's agitation, so she shook her head for 'no', "You just said his name a couple of times. I guess you miss him a lot."

One of the things his daddy had taught Dean was to know if a person was lying or not. It would be a useful ability in case his dad was copied by a shapeshifter or possessed by a demon since he was still too small to fight. That's why Dean immediately knew that Ariana was lying to him. But even more, he admired her effort in keeping him as comfortable as possible.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I really need to get going now. It'll be harder to track my family once the trail gets cold."

"You can't leave," Ariana whispered in despair. The boy still didn't know who-or what-he was dealing with and she was sure that that fire burning in him now would soon burn inptself out or die out once George started with him.

"Why not?" Dean challenged, tilting his chin defiantly.

"You'll see soon enough."

As if to prove her words, the front door just outside the room they were in burst open. A rowdy group of three men entered soon thereafter, laughing boisterously and obviously drunk, pushing each other playfully like guys half their age. Ariana stiffened in response, but Dean just looked on indifferently past the open door.

"Go on in, I just hafta deal with somethin'," one of the guys told his friends, staring back at the two children with a storm brewing in his eyes.

The other two continued goofing off as the apparent leader of their group strode towards Ariana and Dean. A staticky noise was heard somewhere in the cabin and nothing else as the man approached the two like a lion would its prey.

"What do ya think yer doin', ya li'l skank!?" he suddenly bellowed in fury.

_He's deranged,_ was the first thought that ran through Dean's mind before he was astounded when the guy slapped Ariana so hard she was tossed towards the other side of the room. Dean's protective instincts kicked in and he found himself rushing the guy to the wall. Or at least that's what he had in mind.

Buff Guy didn't even budge an inch. He just ogled at Dean like he was some annoying pest that was stuck to his body. He smiled a malicious grin before lifting Dean a few inches off the ground by grasping his blonde hair. "Hey, you're the new kid, eh? I see you've got some fireball in you. You're a hunter's child, right? Wonder why yer daddy wanted to get rid of you."

At first, Dean struggled against Buff Guy. His mom had always said she loved his hair best next to his dark hazel eyes, so he never let anyone touch it after the fire. He managed to take a bath and cut it short all on his own just to avoid anyone coming in close contact with his hair. Well, except for Sammy, that is. Sammy was always the exception to the rules. But when Dean heard what Buff Guy said about his dad wanting to get rid of him, he just lost the will to fight him off. "He-he did?"

Raucous laughter answered Dean and Buff Guy dumped him on the floor. Dean noticed neither. His head was spinning from what he just heard. His dad didn't need him anymore, and it hit him somewhere irrepairable. Losing interest in him, Buff Guy left the room, calling behind him for Ariana, "Get some popcorn going, you worthless piece of shit!"

That snapped Dean a little from his stupor. "Ariana..." he whispered.

The girl was just rising from where she ended up. It was only then that Dean noticed all the faint scars and fading bruises the older girl sported. At his worried look, Ariana managed a weak smile, though her right cheek looked like it was painted bright red, "I'm okay, Dean. Stay here for nine years and you'll get used to it." Ariana laughed in morbid humor. "Just do what he tells you to, don't do the stuff he hates, steer clear of him whenever you can and you'll survive."

"But why do you let him treat you like that!?" It enraged Dean to see her suffering needlessly. "You could help me escape! We'll get help or something..."

Dean trailed off at Ariana's resigned look as she limped to the door slightly. She chanced one last look at Dean and said, "Welcome to hell, Dean."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

It took Dean awhile, but he soon got the lay of the land.

Buff Guy's name is George. His buddies were named Felix and Leon. Together they run a child pornography circle-whatever on Earth that is, Ariana wouldn't tell-in a relatively spacious cabin in the middle of Georgian forest. So far, Dean was still 'unusable' because he still didn't know the 'basics' so he was, gratefully, as innocent as he'll ever be. Max, a thirteen-year-old young boy who's been here since he was ten, was in-charge of Dean's 'training'. The older boy was yet to do as he was told, and Dean was grateful for an extra few days to think of a way out.

Now, he was supposed to clean the whole cabin alone as a punishment for answering back yet again. He had started by scrubbing the old wooden floors first for the first three hours after breakfast, then he began to wipe the grimy windows with a piece of cloth. For the Winchester, it was probably the worst punishnent of all time. He'd gladly take getting beat up unconscious over this domesticity.

Every cut and slice, all the bruises he received from those men had him imagining that he was just on a typical hunt with his dad, getting battered up because he let his guard down for a little while. It still hurt him a great deal each time he remembered George saying that his dad just gave him away, but feeling the intense pain of knives or fists against his skin and flesh erased all that. It didn't matter if his daddy didn't want him anymore. Sammy. Sammy was his sole priority, and maybe, just maybe, if he made it back to them on his own, his dad will change his mind about him.

With that happy thought in mind, Dean just endured what Ariana called as Hell. He swore to himself and to Sammy that he'll make it out of here alive, and he intended to honor that promise. _Who knew, maybe dad would even be proud of me and want me around again once I prove to him that I'm strong enough to protect my little brother._

So Dean arranged a plan of escape just a few days after he met Ariana. He'd figured out how to snake an extra set of keys from George's room, he'd managed to pack himself meager supplies a few days' worth, and he had a rough idea on how to get to the highway as fast as he could, but only if his plan went through. The only problem now was finding the right time for execution.

Approximately three or four months into his sonfinement (he lost count), Dean finally got the opportunity he was waiting for. George was the only adult left in the cabin-the other two we're dealing with something in town while their leader nursed the worse hangover of the century. Dean knew exactly what to do in this situation (his dad has had many just like it), but he hated the very idea of helping the monster who's hurt all the kids he kept here away from their parents. _Besides, this is my perfect opportunity, _he told himself.

While George took his customary shower later that afternoon, Dean slipped in as quietly as he could into the man's room. Tip-toeing across, he reached for the extra set of keys on the bedside table and lifted it painstakingly slow so it wouldn't jingle. Keeping an ear out for the sound of the shower, Dean placed the keys inside his tattered jeans pocket and began to go back the way he came, carefully checking each step to prevent the old wood from betraying him.

He pulled the door open in victory, only to gasp in surprise when a now-familiar face appeared before him. "Hey," he managed to choke out.

"So you're really going through with it?" she asked, her nose flaring in outrage.

"Yeah, do you have a problem with it?" Dean retorted, reflecting the unexplained anger that Ariana was now displaying. _She's usually such a nice girl. I wonder what her problem is, _Dean thought irritably.

"How many times do I have to tell you there's no leaving this place!?" They've had this same conversation time and time again, and the girl already knew where this was headed. Dean would shrug it off and go do what he wants in the way that he wants.

Dean snickered at her, animosity clearly in his eyes. "Maybe for you. But unlike you, I'm not too afraid to do something about the situation. I have a brother to come home to, and I sure am going to soon."

Tears came to Ariana's eyes, much to her dismay. "Good for you." She walked away before he could say anymore.

The Winchester immediately felt guilty. Dean's first instinct was to just let it be. He didn't know exactly what he did wrong, but he knew he'd upset her very much to warrant those tears and it didn't sit well with him. She's been over-the-top nice with him even though she barely knew him, and it probably kept him alive more than he would care to admit. He owed her too much to just let it be.

Closing the door behind him-thank God George remained oblivious to their confrontation-Dean followed the direction Ariana took but he didn't want to call her attention in case George was done with his bath and came to check why he was shouting. He found her partially hidden behind some boxes that were never unpacked in a dark and musty corner of the cabin's second floor, hugging her legs to her chest and silently sobbing.

Dean's heart repositioned itself in his stomach. He didn't know how to deal with a crying Ariana. He's seen a sad Ariana, a happy Ariana, a worried Ariana, and an angry Ariana but never had the girl cried, in front of him anyway. "Hey," he whispered softly, guilt clawing at his chest. He did this to her. He needed to fix it himself.

"Please don't..." she croaked in a voice so broken that left Dean in panic.

"Ariana, I don't- I can't- What do you want me to do?" he groaned, running a hand through is uncharacteristically long dirty blonde hair in agitation. He didn't want to put Ariana in so much pain and misery but Dean couldn't even entertain the idea of abandoning his plan. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing his baby brother again, especially when he could've done something about it.

"Luke, please, no... It's crazy, it's foolhardy, it's...it won't work! He's gonna kill you! Please, Luke, listen to me... Please."

With a start, Dean realized Ariana wasn't talking to him anymore. He reached out for her to lift her face towards the light. He managed to do so without much restraint. The girl's eyes were glazed over, and she appeared to be incoherent of her surroundings. "Ariana?"

"Luke... You're back!" she breathed, seeming completely normal. But she obviously wasn't.

"I'm not Luke. Ariana, it's Dean," he said gently but firmly. "Don't you remember?"

"Not Luke? Dean?" Understanding slowly dawned on Ariana's face. "Oh." Her cheeks flamed red in embarrassment. "Oh, right. Uhm..." Ariana wouldn't even look at him.

"Who's Luke?" Dean asked.

Ariana was sorely tempted to lie, but she found herself too tired to continue the act. _Maybe if he knew, he wouldn't leave._ Ariana convinced herself futilely, because she knew in her heart that nothing short of the end of the world could stop Dean. "Luke is...my brother," she answered anyway. Before she lost her guts, Ariana rambled on. "We were together when George and his men took us from a park in Phoenix, Arizona. My brother, he was always too hardheaded and impulsive and I keep telling myself there's nothing I could've done, but that would be a lie. I let my brother die. It's my fault!"

"Ariana... I'm sure it wasn't your fault." Dean pulled her in for a hug. It felt weird trying to comfort someone older than him, but Dean set aside that thought for a moment and just held her.

"No! You don't know what happened-" Ariana exclaimed hysterically, trying to get away from Dean's embrace.

The boy held on tight as sobs racked her thin frame and they stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Ariana calmed down enough so when she pulled away again, Dean let her go. Her eyes were bloodshot as they looked to him for solace; Dean offered his trademark troublemaker smirk and helped her up.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Time passed by quickly. Or slowly. Either way, Dean wouldn't really know. There were no clocks in the cabin to tell the exact time. The only way they could be sure whether it was day or night was by the amount of sunlight that filtered through the boarded up windows. Even their meals didn't have a definite schedule. They just ate when they were hungry or when they had food.

Dean and Ariana had talked about his escape plans, albeit reluctantly on the girl's part. She had also offered a few details about her brother, again, reluctantly. Still, Dean didn't have any idea what happened that scared Ariana so much. He assumed that the little boy didn't survive, although he didn't push her into telling any more than she wanted to.

Sooner rather than later, Dean was once again ready to leave Hell, and this time, it was with Ariana's help.

**A/N: Hey there! Whaddaya think, eh? Pretty action filled, but not exactly what I was hoping for. Anyway, let me know if it amounted anything to your expectations. R&R yeah?**


	3. Danger

**A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the next installment you've been waiting for! I started ****this one before writing the first chapter because it's one of the most emotional pieces I'm ever going to write, so the update is quick. Anyway, hope you enjoy this 'aww'-worthy chapter :) Stay awesome!**

**Disclaimer: Dean and Sam are mine. So friggin' sue me!**

**CHAPTER TWO: Danger**

It was all going according to plan. Well, that is until everything went to Hell. Literally.

First, the sleeping pills Ariana slipped into the three men's bottles of beer wore off a little too soon. And then Dean was nearly knocked into oblivion by one of George's minions. And then George himself got ahold of his gun and fired haphazardly.

For a frightening moment, Dean had the sudden urge to stop running and just give up. If it wasn't for the older girl pulling him along, he would've easily crumbled. It seemed like forever for Dean, but a few minutes later, he and Ariana paused to catch their breath. At any other circumstance, Dean would've admired the immaculate snow falling all around them. Being the protective brother that he was, he never got the chance to play outside in the snow. But that didn't matter to him now. All he could really focus on was getting out of this cursed wilderness. They resumed their hike.

Another volley of shots, much too close for comfort, rang out again somewhere to their north. All of a sudden, Dean felt like those monster his dad came after. All of a sudden, he wasn't the hunter anymore. He was the hunted.

Ariana and Dean looked at each other in scared silence. "We seem to be going in circles," the girl whispered, although there was no one around to hear them.

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He had placed the both of them in this perilous situation, and dumbly, he couldn't think of a clever enough solution to get them both out safely.

"There's only one way to go about this," Ariana announced. "We have to go back." Before Dean could voice his protest, Ariana continued. She seemed to have given this much thought. "We panicked earlier, and lost our way. We have to retrace our steps and follow the plan to the letter. Alright?"

The six-year-old nodded mutely. He didn't like it, but Ariana was right.

Stealthily, they approached the source of the gunshots. They agreed that that would be the best bet to start retracing their steps. Thankfully, George didn't seem to find the need to follow them into the woods. He was only a few meters away from the cabin, firing buckshots at anything that moved.

The plan would've worked smoothly if Dean hadn't stepped on a twig and alerted George of their location. Seconds later, they were running for their life again. Only this time, the two had a better sense of direction. Hope reared its ugly head inside Dean's heart.

George fired after them, but none of the shots hit their target. Or so Dean thought.

The young boy chanced a look at the girl running beside him. A sheen of sweat was covering most of her skin, and she gritted her teeth almost like she was scared she would scream if she didn't. That's when Dean noticed the crimson liquid seeping into her parka on her left arm. "Ariana!"

The nine-year-old tugged the boy along even as he stumbled in shock. A bullet seemed to have grazed her before they got to turn around after George spotted them, but she willed herself to ignore the pain. She had to get Dean to safety.

About a mile along, Ariana's eyesight was failing her. Her limbs felt like lead, and it took tremendous effort to keep herself moving. Finding a bunch of trees clumped together, she hid herself and Dean for a quick rest. Her breathing was shallow and her throat was parched, but they only had one canteen of water and she decided to give it to the kid. Rummaging inside her pack, she pushed the container into Dean's gloved hands and forced him to drink.

Ariana knew they couldn't keep running forever. The edge of the forest was still far off. George wasn't a good shot, but he had managed to graze Ariana. They needed a distraction, and there was a good one she could think of. "Dean. We need a distraction."

There was a wild look on Dean's face but the implication of her words wasn't lost on him. "No. No, we stick together. No matter what. Follow the plan to the letter. You said so yourself."

"Sometimes we have to improvise and improve the plan, little brother," Ariana murmured, caressing his cheek for the last time. She thrust the backpack onto his chest as Dean stood there, stunned. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Dean. You taught me how to stand up for myself. You taught me that some things are worth fighting to the death for. But most importantly, you gave me a reason to live again. And for that, thank you. It's just so lame I couldn't enjoy this freedom with you." Before he could recover from his shock, Ariana left him there standing with his mouth wide open and ran the direction they were running from.

It was time she faced her fear. It was time she fought back.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

When Dean realized he was lost in the woods, all alone and totally defenseless, he began to panic. He still remembered all that his father had taught him about combat but they seemed to make no sense to him in that situation. Any of the monsters his daddy fought could come at him right now, and there would be nothing he could do to stop himself from being monster chow.

With a desperation brought on by those thoughts, Dean forged on through the thick undergrowth. Thorny plants scratched him as he swiped them away from his path, but he didn't pay them any attention. A bunch of little scratches amd cuts would be a hell of a lot better than ending up as dinner for some gross woodland monster.

Dean suddenly realized that he himself hadn't eaten anything since the cold soup Ariana prepared for lunch. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

But there wasn't any time for thinking about food. The six-year-old had to think about _surviving_ _the night. _The sun had set a long time ago; exactly how long, Dean couldn't begin to figure out. Time meant so little to him as his head spun trying to figure out which way to go. He felt like he's been going in circles.

Hot tears mixed with the sweat on the little boy's face. _This is hopeless. Ariana sacrificed herself for nothing,_ he thought forlornly. He didn't have any clue where he was or how to get out of this damned forest. Every step he took made him more tired and more helpless. All of a sudden, a rustling of leaves behind him made him take a miscalculated step and he crashed face first down a steep hill.

"ARGH!" came his inevitable muffled scream.

His face still connected flatly on the ground a few minutes later, the young boy lay unmoving, sensing all that he could in his environment and mentally assessing his body. Nothing seemed broken. He was very sure that he heard movement directly behind him so he waited for a while to see if anything would follow. When he was sure nothing will, he began to right himself again, only to cry out in pain once more as he fell back in the direction of gravity's pull.

Inspecting his painful right ankle, Dean was alarmed to see that it was badly sprained. He could still walk, most probably, but it will be very slow and very painful. Not only that, but he could barely see a meter in front of him. "When did it get so dark?" he grumbled ill-temperedly, doing his best to squash the panic that was taking root in his stomach. Dean hated the dark.

He managed to hobble a good distance at least before Dean collapsed again. He was by now drenched in a mix of sweat, tears and blood. Dean tried standing up after moment's rest, but unbearable pain shot up his entire leg, crippling him. For minutes that seemed like forever for the little boy to be completely engulfed in darkness, Dean just lay there stock still. He didn't dare move for each single movement seemed to amplify the scorching sensation on his injury. Dean just listened to the nighttime nature sounds, attempting to calm himself down enough to be able to actually think. He wouldn't let such a mundane thing as a sprained ankle lead to his premature death.

Suddenly, there came the rustling sounds again, this time a lot closer for Dean's comfort. Propping himself on his elbows, Dean crawled the little space between himself and a sturdy-looking tree trunk. There was a hollow in the middle that he can hide in for the time being. He was then grateful that he was still small enough to fit in tight spaces.

Dean heard the rustling again, followed by a figure emerging from the bushes a foot away from Dean a minute ago. The middle Winchester's breathing halted.

"Is anyone there?" a shaky voice asked hesitantly.

_It's human!_ Dean's mind screamed at him. Scrambling out of his hiding place in an instant, Dean answered in an uncharacteristically high voice, "I'm here! Please, I need help!"

A beam of light fell on Dean's face just as he got out of the cramped tree trunk. His right hand went to his face to shield it while the other went out to steady himself on one foot. "Please," he croaked, his emotions running amok. "I need help."

That was the last thing Dean Winchester could remember before darkness claimed him once more.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Dean was grateful his sleep hadn't been marred by nightmares. There was a pleasing coolness on his forehead, a respite against the constant searing hotness in his flesh. _Maybe that's what happens when you're too tired, _he mused. _Or when you're dead._

With that alarming thought, his eyes shot open and he bolted upright from where he was laying, his hands positioned ready to fight. What he saw was definitely not what the boy was expecting. He was in a bed in a room that didn't reek of alcohol. A wooden chair was beside the bed where a lady sat fast asleep. A damp cloth had fallen between his legs, on top of the blanket secured around his legs.

The Winchester couldn't prevent a sob as he remembered the episode in the forest. Ariana had sacrificed herself for his freedom. And he didn't do anything to save her. He didn't even try to stop her.

Mikhail Leeson was jarred awake by a tiny sob. She opened her eyes to see a crying little boy on the bed. His skin was still too flamed for her liking, but what bothered her the most was the heartwrenching sound he was making. He reminded her too much of the sone she never had. She collected the little boy to her chest and sat him on her lap without a word, careful not to touch the splint on his sprained ankle. The boy didn't make any move to halt her motherhenning as she whispered soothing words in his ears, too busy crying in his trauma. He promptly fell asleep again in her arms. For fear of waking him up, Mikhail didn't deposit him back to the bed but instead hugged him even tighter.

She woke up again as sunlight entered the room through the translucent curtains, but there was a comfortable burden on her chest this time. Nestled so close to her was the young boy her husband Larry rescued from the woods late last night. It would be by pure luck that he found the boy. Larry Leeson was a forest ranger and had been doing his usual rounds of the hiking trail. He hadn't mean to stray so far from his designated area, but now he was glad he did, and so was his wife.

The blonde boy was scratched and bruised on a thousand different places and he had a badly sprained ankle it was a wonder he even managed to stay conscious for as long as he did when he was found. Larry brought him home when he passed out right then and there, and his wife tended to the boy's injuries.

When Mikhail shifted into a more comfortable position, the boy opened his eyes wide in pure terror. Mikhail could practically hear the thudding in his chest. "Ssh. You're safe here."

Dean relaxed a little, but didn't let his guard down even though he _did_ feel safe somewhat. The woman's arms around him was so warm and soft it immediately reminded him of his mommy when she was still alive. She would often hug him like this whenever he got scared or woke up from a particularly terrifying nightmare. Dean immediately felt the traitor tears slipping down his face. He ground his teeth together until he got them in control.

"Would you like some food?" Mikhail asked the boy gently. The way he stopped his tears from falling hadn't escaped her, and her heart clenched so tightly in response it almost left her breathless. _What had this young boy suffered to let him control his emotions like that?_

Against his will, Dean nodded. Just the thought of food had his mouth watering.

Feeling his assent, Mikhail carried the boy downstairs. Larry was in kitchen duty since it was his day off from work and already, Mikhail could smell the bacon and eggs sizzling on a pan. Soft classical music was playing in the background as he played chef in the kitchen.

When Larry saw his wife carrying the little boy into the kitchen, a smile lit up his face. It relieved him to see that at least the boy was awake now, although his face remained resolutely pensive, giving the impression that he's seen much more than he should have. It didn't fit his young face at all.

"Breakfast, anyone?" he invited cheerfully.

Mikhail placed a finger on her lips in a gesture of silence and sat Dean on a bar stool. He seemed reluctant to let go, but he did unclench his fist and let himself be ushered onto a seat. Larry placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and the OJ he had prepared earlier. Dean just stared at the food and then looked back at Mikhail beside him.

"You need to eat at least a little," Mikhail coaxed. "Come on, just a teensy weensy bit?" she said again, holding a strip of bacon between her thumb and index finger.

The woman really reminded Dean of his mom. He didn't know if he should be happy about it or if he should cry. Dean took a strip of bacon for himself and began to nibble at one end the way he learned to at Hell. He savored the flavor before taking an experimental sip of juice. When he finished just what he took, he looked at the woman again as if challenging her to ask him to eat more. With a sigh, Mikhail resigned herself into making sure he would eat more later. "Do you want another bath?"

He hadn't noticed before, but now that he thought about it, Dean realized that he was not in his own clothes. The foreign clothing didn't look new, but they were at least not three sizes too big. The clothes that he wore the night he was brutally taken away from his family had acted like a tenuous connection to his real life as John Winchester's eldest son and Sam Winchester's older brother. He kept it all these months even though they had so many holes that rivaled a Swiss cheese, and now, just like that, they were gone. "Where're my clothes?" he asked in a shaky voice he didn't recognize.

Mikhail, sensing his panic, made something up out of the blue. She told him they were in the laundry, but the truth was she had already thrown them out the night before. A silent communication passed between the Leesons and Larry went outside to look for it. "Do you want to take a bath, sweetie?"

Dean shook his head, barely awake now. Sighing heavily, he let Mikhail carry him back upstairs to the rom he occupied. He was fast asleep before his head touched the pillow.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

For days on end-maybe weeks or months, he didn't really know-Dean wandered the roads. He was in pain, tired, hungry and very dirty but he never lost hope that he'll find his daddy and little brother soon if only he kept going. Whenever his sprained ankle hurt, he dry swallowed a half pill of aspirin. He didn't know if children were supposed to take such medication or what dosage to follow, so he kept it to a bare minimum.

He left the Leesons place about a week after they took him in. They were very nice to him which was in stark contrast to the way he's been living after that fateful night, and he was very much tempted when they offered to let him stay forever. But he just couldn't. It scared him even more that he even considered staying. So he left in the dead of the night. Disabling the alarms and enabling them again once he was out was easy once he knew the codes. With a thank you note in his barely legible scrawl.

On the streets, Dean avoided detection by the authorities like his life depended on it because he knew that once they were made aware of his situation, there was a very big possibility that his daddy would get in trouble for it.

During the last few days, however, Dean was starting to lose his optimism. Many times, he wondered if his dad was even looking for him. _He must think I'm so stupid to have been taken so easily. I won't ever see him...or Sammy. _The thought of the toddler he left behind brought a lump to the little kid's throat. Tears sprung to his eyes as he realized he'll never see Sammy grow up anymore, never see him smile at him like the sun rose and set with his older brother's every word.

The young child looked out of place alone strolling with the fast-paced crowd. He passed by a donut stall, recalling Sam's very first donut. _Geez, he smeared icing all over his face then!_ he thought wistfully. _Even Daddy laughed at that._

Next to the donut stall was a shop that sold TVs. One of the idiot boxes was showing the news report of the day, and Dean immediately felt moisture in his eyes as he managed to read the date on the screen. It was already past Christmas and New Year. It was January 24th.

Dean ignored the stares he was earning from the rush-hour crowd as he let the tears flow down his cheeks. He didn't care what they thought about him anymore. Hell, they can even call those Child Protection Services. He just wanted to sing his baby brother to sleep like his mommy used to and greet him good morning with a tickle fight when he woke up. He just wanted to see little Sammy one more time and tell him that he loved him, that he'll be with him no matter what happened.

"Hey, kid! Stop!"

The scream broke Dean from his reverie and he looked up to see who had shouted. A horrified expression pasted on the faces of the onlookers made him realize two things at once. One was that he was in the middle of the road unthinkingly; and two, a speeding truck was coming his way.

He should've moved his body. He should've avoided the truck. There was still enough time to do that and still avoid being discovered by the CPS. But Dean's limbs seemed to have stopped functioning and ignored the impulses his brain sent them. His other body parts functioned perfectly, however. His breathing came out in short gasps as his brain analyzed the incoming threat, and his eyes dilated in fear. But it wasn't the fear of the unknown you feel a few seconds before death. Dean feared not seeing his family again more than he feared death. Even more than that, Dean couldn't face the possibility of not seeing Sammy again-no, scratch that-the fact that Sammy will never know he had a big brother who loved him so very much. No one will protect him from the bullies at school, and he wouldn't even wonder about the what-ifs. _Maybe it's better this way._

Unlike the things he'd seen in movies, time didn't slow down enough for Dean's short life to flash before his eyes. Only one face came to him as he closed his eyes to face his fate: the image of a chubby face framed with curly dark brown hair, smiling brightly and babbling the only sentence he knew at the tender age of two, "I wuv yooo Dee!"

First came the sudden but anticipated impact slamming onto his small body, and then Dean felt excruciating pain that defied description. Every bone in his body seemed to have been crushed, and his heart stopped and restarted in no particular rhythm. He had gotten hurt before, but never to this extent. Then, as if somebody heard his wordless plea, Dean felt numb, bone-chilling numbness that echoed throughout his being. And then darkness, glorious darkness that took away all of his senses. Grateful for the respite, Dean succumbed to it without a fight.

**A/N: Well? This is just a filler arc of sorts and there's more to come: lots of hurt!Dean but no protective!Sam to comfort him for the next chapters to come. R&R please! Request for certain hurt!Dean situations are welcome...**


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